


No Other Love

by grimeysociety



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers Friendship, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Darcy Lewis Needs a Hug, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sex Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-01-27 07:03:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21388060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimeysociety/pseuds/grimeysociety
Summary: While on the run, Bucky meets Dee, a working girl he can't seem to shake.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Darcy Lewis
Comments: 114
Kudos: 396
Collections: Bucky Barnes Bingo 2020





	1. i.

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written for Kinktober 2019, Day 8 "Sex Work". Several people told me this deserves its own separate fic, and I figured I'd extend the story. 
> 
> The title of this fic comes by [the 1950 song by Jo Stafford](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mTl89UtsqcA), remixed by Jonny Greenwood for the movie The Master. If you want a good cry, listen to that song ten times over like I did this morning.
> 
> [my Tumblr](http://grimeysociety.tumblr.com/)

_"I'll be your baby doll and your bodyguard if you tell me to_  
_I'll try to make it all not as hard if you let me through..."_

\- "**Peach" by Kevin Abstract**

**i.**

He had the layout of the gas station in a matter of seconds. He went to the back, grabbing snacks and shoving them into his hoodie pocket, listening out for any new people. As far as he could tell, the clerk was by themselves, with no-one working out back.

The clerk was watching him from the enclosure behind the counter, the register locked away from would-be thieves. He counted four cameras, but he knew there were more. He thought about disabling them, and then he reminded himself to pick his battles. He was desperately hungry and needed to refuel. He didn’t think there was anything too distinct about him, just that he probably smelt a little ripe since the sponge bath two nights ago. He should probably go the bathroom around the corner and at least try scrubbing under his arms.

A truck pulled up outside and he swallowed, tensing as he watched it idle, the driver’s and passenger doors opening. A middle-aged white guy with a thick grey beard and bald head stepped out. His passenger was a young brunette woman wearing a tight long-sleeved shirt and jeans, all curves and soft skin. She walked ahead, ducking into the gas station.

He watched them walk past, and he headed to the refrigerators. He needed to hydrate, grabbing the biggest Gatorade he could find, feeling his heartbeat increase as he sensed the woman coming up behind him.

“Excuse me,” she murmured, and he sucked in a breath, her arm slipping past him to grab a smaller, purple Gatorade. She glanced up at him and smiled, a little one, but Bucky froze, his eyes widening.

It was like having a bright light shone in his face. She made him shrink back, overwhelmed. She turned away, walking toward the register. The bald guy was staring at Bucky, asking for some cigarettes without facing the clerk. Bucky shut the refrigerator door, his jaw tensing.

He slowly made his way to the register, the bald guy no longer watching him. He threw down several notes, asking if there was an ATM nearby. The clerk indicated the one in the corner near the door in accented English. Bucky stood several feet away, trying to focus on anywhere but the girl’s ass, which was distinctly heart-shaped. The bald guy walked over to the ATM and the woman turned away from the counter, opening her bag of candy.

She held Bucky’s gaze for a microsecond, and there was that smile again.

“Bye.”

“Bye,” he replied, his voice rough. He didn’t know the last time he spoke. It was crazy that he did it automatically then. He didn’t need to be reminded he was allowed to speak. He stared after her, and then felt the bald guy’s eyes on him, somewhat territorial.

Bucky didn’t think he was her father. They looked nothing alike. Then the woman took the cash and stuffed it into her back pocket of her jeans, a little giggle escaping her.

The penny dropped and Bucky heard a clicking sound.

“Buddy, hey,” the clerk called, and Bucky blinked, turning toward the counter and finally stepping forward.

He shoved everything from his pockets toward the clerk, shelling out several notes. He felt a blush all over his face. He left a minute or so later, watching the red truck speed off into the night.

He tore open a Clif bar and bit into it, contemplating the girl. He was still getting used to things, but he recalled working girls growing up. It was the world’s oldest profession. He thought of her ass in those jeans and swallowed his food, something stirring in the base of his spine.

He washed up in the bathroom, counting eight spiders. His heightened sense of smell made him gag a couple times but he managed to get out of there without throwing up his food, stalking off into the night.

The warmer night meant he was less likely to freeze to death, but he kept his hood on, his hands stuffed in his pockets as he walked back to the hotel. He spotted the same red truck – without meaning to, he remembered the plates. The girl was there with her client. His lips parted at the realization, glancing around. He could hear people playing TVs in their rooms. He ducked his head, pushing aside the thoughts. If he concentrated too much he’d hear the buzzing of the fluorescent lights, and then he’d never sleep. Not that he did that too well, anyway.

-

He left the hotel the next morning, going to the library to read something and try and stay out of the heat. He got a few looks from other patrons but he kept his head down, trying to not disturb the peace, flipping a page in his chair. He chose a spot that gave him the full scope of the library floor, to stop anyone from sneaking up on him. He glanced at his page, trying to settle into the bean bag.

After a couple hours of reading, he heard a soft tutting and swung his eyes towards the source of the sound. He froze, seeing a brunette woman at a desk with her laptop open, frowning at whatever she was reading.

It was the girl from last night, wearing a similar outfit, except with a pair of glasses she pushed up, her lips pursed in concentration. Bucky blinked, feeling himself flush at the sight of her tits pushed up to the neckline of her shirt. He glanced down at her hips. She sighed in frustration, twisting in her seat to grab something from her bag, its strap slung over her chair, briefly turning her rear in Bucky’s line of sight.

_I’d recognize that ass anywhere_, he thought. It didn’t feel like it was his thought, though. Someone else’s, someone he thought he knew…

Fuck, he needed to get out of there. He sat up abruptly, the bean bag moving audibly, and he felt nervous sweat break out all over him, sure he was getting a couple stares. She was throwing him off, making him clumsy.

He put his book aside without shutting it, and walked past the girl, his head down. He made a beeline for the nearest exit, his stomach churning. He needed to leave.

He walked down the street to the park. He slept there two nights ago, after he swiped the wallets from the YMCA locker room. He sat under a tree, breathing heavily. He pushed the heels of his palms into his eyes, sucking in a shaky breath, exhaling roughly through his nose. He licked his lips, hands going to his pockets, pulling out the stack of notes he still had.

He thought about buying a bus ticket, then cursed himself for not checking that shit the second he got to the library earlier. He closed his eyes, letting his head fall back to rest against the tree. His knee jiggled while he thought it over.

Then he spotted her coming out of the library, her laptop under one arm. She looked irritated, muttering under her breath as she walked closer. Bucky kept still, pulled his hood further down. He couldn’t make out the words so easily, but she knew she was cursing with fervour, and he felt his lips tweak in a brief smirk.

Damn, when was the last time that happened? He pushed his hoodie back, seeing her walking away to the parking lot. The car she stopped at to open was a silver Nissan _something_ that Bucky recognized as a pretty shitty car, by the way it struggled to start. He heard it turn over and the girl backed out of the parking lot. Her music was _very_ loud, something with a heavy bass.

He waited another fifteen minutes before he stalked back to the library, and in the spur of the moment he took the computer closest to the desk she sat at before. He wondered if he could smell her on the furniture, only to dismiss his intentions as creepy and wrong, before opening up a web browser to find a bus timetable.

He could catch the next Greyhound tomorrow. He could head north, maybe find a place remote enough that he wouldn’t run into anyone for a while. Was Alaska a little too close to the cold he remembered? He thought about doing the opposite, heading further into the heat, but it would be full of kids having their summer vacations. It all sounded sad to Bucky, so he closed the web browser and decided to head back to the park. He opened his backpack, making sure he wasn’t being watched before he pulled out his notebook. He leafed through the pages, picking up a biro pen and scrawling _ASS_ in one margin.

He felt guilty for the stranger he’d represented by a single word, but in all fairness, it was worth noting. He hadn’t shown any sign of sexuality for several days. And maybe it was perverted, but he was glad he was a little more human, his blood warming at the sight of someone else.

He kept watching the people walk by, moved a couple times when he thought it was necessary. The sun began to set and he thought about getting another hotel room. The place he was at was okay, but he wondered if he should wait until he left town to splurge on a mattress instead of a park bench. 

He got to the hotel parking lot, his hands holding the straps of his backpack. He knew he’d have to move soon, make a decision.

“Hey.”

He startled, seeing the girl from before, the little brunette. She was walking over to him, her handbag swinging. There weren’t a lot of people around, and he wondered how he managed to sneak up on him like that. He spotted her car in the distance, parked around the corner. She must have seen him standing there, staring into space like some slack-jawed idiot.

“Sorry,” she said, her hands up. “I didn’t mean to make you shit yourself. I walk sorta quiet.”

Bucky felt the heat rise in his cheeks, words failing him.

“We’ve gotta stop meeting like this,” she said, laughing a little, the sound awkward. “With the 7-Eleven last night and the library –”

“You saw me at the library?” he asked, not recognizing his own voice.

She smiled. “Yeah, I tend to notice guys like you.”

Bucky blinked. “Guys… like me.”

She giggled, and he could tell it was genuine. It burst out of her and she covered her mouth, her face changing.

“Oh, you’re serious,” she said, and she waved her hand. “Never mind. I just meant you’re easy on the eyes.”

Bucky thought of his wide, shifty eyes, his dirty clothes, his long stringy hair. She wasn’t making a lot of sense.

“Maybe consider buying a Groucho Marx pair of glasses or get plastic surgery if you mean to blend in,” she added with a wink, and she made to move past him, her hips swinging.

That name wrung some bell in the recesses of his mind. Maybe a movie? Did he see a movie with a guy called Groucho in it?

He could smell body odor, stale air in a windowless movie theater. For several seconds he felt the material of a dress on the palm of his hand, his arm draped around a dame. The air was full of smoke, a cigarette between the fingers of his spare hand.

The girl was walking away from him. She was wearing a pair of shorts, showing off her legs. He itched to touch her skin.

“Hey,” he blurted, and she stopped, turning her head.

Her eyebrows hiked and she moved back, stopping several feet away from him. A safe distance, Bucky realized.

“What’s up?” she said, and Bucky gaped for a few seconds. “You wanted something?”

There was a little relief, her words out instead of him trying to navigate it. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever made an exchange like this.

“Yeah,” he managed to reply, clearing his throat. “If…”

“I’m not free, sweetheart,” she said, her voice a little lower.

“Yeah,” he said again. He thought of the little wad of notes.

She moved closer, her eyes running up and down him, scrutinising. Bucky was reminded of the last time someone looked at him that way, assessing how much of a threat he was. It was a homeless guy in D.C., and Bucky very nearly broke his jaw when he jumped him with a couple other guys. Being reminded of that made his heartbeat pick up even more.

“Let’s get a room,” the girl said.

“Okay,” Bucky whispered, his gaze averting.

She began walking toward the reception, Bucky’s eyes on the ground. He thought about the likelihood of her being an enemy. He’d seen her three times now, so the odds were higher than usual. He couldn’t see any weapons on her, but she could be hiding something in her bag. If it came to it, he could snap her neck. The thought of having to do that made him nauseous.

When she pushed open the receptionist door, she flashed a smile at the woman at the front desk.

“We’d like a room for the night, please,” she said.

Bucky froze when she moved toward him, tugging him by his right arm. He dug into the pocket of his hoodie with his other hand, fishing out the cash as the receptionist narrowed her eyes at them. Bucky felt it was very obvious what was going on, but the woman made no comment, gave him a key wordlessly. They exited, Bucky’s heart racing, the girl’s hand still on his arm.

He read the number, 13, on the key’s laminated label and they walked down the alley behind the reception to find the room. He could hear the TVs like last night, the crickets and the hums of the vending machines that passed.

They stopped at 13, the girl murmuring, “Unlucky-lucky thirteen…”

Bucky thought about how she must hate this. She had to, with that tone. She sounded tired, weary. He thought about giving her cash and asking her to leave, but then she smiled at him, turning the key in the lock.

“Oh, well,” she whispered.

They ducked inside, and she flipped on the light. It was identical to the place Bucky stayed in last night, number 18. He would bet the faucet leaked, too. He waited, looking at the floor. The girl put down her bag next to the bed.

“How much?” he asked, and he hated it, he hated asking her that. He thought he could taste bile a second later, swallowing as he dared to glance at her face.

“Two hundred,” she replied. “I’ve got rubbers.”

Bucky nodded, his cheeks burning. He had no idea if that was her ripping him off or not. Inflation made things confusing and he hadn’t adjusted his expectations. Bucky took out his cash and counted two hundred, putting it between his middle and forefinger, moving toward her.

She took the money, flashing a smile.

“Thank you.”

She tilted her head toward the bathroom. “Go wash up and I’ll be out here waiting.”

Bucky nodded, and he walked off, exhaling shakily when he closed the door behind him. His reflection was terrified-looking, and wrong. He glanced away, feeling sick. He thought about her dashing off while he was in there, and honestly, he wouldn’t blame her. He’d be a little pissed off that he had wasted the cash, but in all likelihood… was anything even going to happen after he showered and went back out there?

He peeled off his clothes, including the glove that covered his cybernetic hand. He turned on the shower, the water pressure no worse than the last shower he took, and he ducked under. The lathered up with the little soap, washed his hair. He paused at his crotch, the water beating on his chest as he looked down. He rested a hand there for a second, unsure.

“Fuck,” he whispered.

He washed everything, not looking down anymore. He rinsed and shut off the water. He dried himself off, and he could hear the girl put on the TV, the sounds of someone talking, and then laughter. He took a deep breath and opened the door, slipping out to the main room. The girl sat with her phone under her nose, typing something in rapid succession. She glanced up, smiling.

“Just letting my girlfriend know how my date’s going.”

Bucky knew what she implied. Someone would miss her if she disappeared, so he better not try anything. He wondered what type of gun she had, because when she picked up her handbag again to put her phone away, there was a distinct thud when she put it back down.

She cleared her throat. “Feeling better after a shower?”

He nodded, feeling the water drip from his hair onto his shirt. He’d redressed, and he wondered what to do now. The sound of the late night talk show on the TV filled the silence as the girl shifted on her spot at the end of the bed.

“Sit down,” she murmured, and Bucky nodded, moving closer.

Sitting next to her, he could see how small she was compared to him. She smelt good, sweet. It wasn’t overpowering. Bucky wasn’t sure people were aware of how much they stank of the shit they spritzed themselves with. Whatever she wore must have worn off throughout the day, or maybe it was something in her clothes, like the soap she used to scrub everything. Bucky remembered people used machines exclusively now, at least in America. He saw the commercials. He’d spent enough time in laundromats. He had to keep reminding himself what was considered normal.

He met her gaze, and her eyes were warm. Her eyes were intensely blue, her lashes long and thick. He knew his face was bright red under her gaze.

“You got a name?” she murmured.

Bucky swallowed thickly. “Uh… J-James.”

She glanced at his mouth. He didn’t think she was convinced. In this line of work, she was probably up to her neck in fake names. She smirked.

“I’m Dee.”

They fell silent and Bucky looked down at her throat, then her arm, her wrist and then her little hands. The delicate bones, the red nail polish on each finger… his gaze snapped up to hers when she spoke again.

“You haven’t done this before.”

“No,” he whispered.

She reached for him then, her hand resting on his thigh. He could feel the warmth of her and he felt the goose bumps break out. He watched her move closer, her other hand coming closer, honing in on his lap…

“Can I kiss you?”

Dee paused, and she blinked. She seemed surprised, but she smiled a second later.

“Sure.”

Bucky swallowed, wetting his lips. Her hands stayed still as he closed the gap, shifting so his head was tilted. She moved up, and he felt her breath on his mouth.

The kiss was slow and tentative, Bucky’s lips brushing hers. He thought of the last few weeks, and he never thought he’d do this – be this close to someone and actually touch them, have them touch him back. He felt himself flinch when her hand came up to touch the side of his face.

“Sorry,” he whispered, and Dee shook her head.

“It’s okay… has it been a while?”

“Yeah,” he breathed, a little relieved he didn’t have to explain.

She closed her eyes and he copied her, this time Dee kissing him. He tried letting go, focusing on her mouth, feeling how soft she was. He sighed, her lip between his two, and it turned into something more, the glide of their mouths triggering something he thought he’d forgotten. It was eerie, being aware that he’d done this before, years and years ago. The kissing was innocent enough but he felt that stirring again, this time in his gut, radiating down to his crotch.

Dee pulled back, blinking up at him. “That wasn’t so bad.”

Bucky got the feeling that she was being kind, but he appreciated it, more so than he could probably ever say. He felt his chest tighten, that she was at least acting this way with him. He sucked in a breath when her little hand rested on his belt buckle a second later.

“Let’s take these off,” she whispered.

Bucky blinked rapidly, remembering something without meaning to – hands shoving him into a cell, a jet of water that shoved him against a wall… he thought of searing pain when he was struck across the face… the hands that pushed him into the chair before the rubber bit was stuck in his mouth…

“James?” Dee murmured, her voice changing. It no longer had the husky timbre, she sounded concerned. “You okay?”

Bucky gulped, blinking reality back. “Yeah…”

“Are you here?” she murmured, touching his chest with her hand, leaving his belt alone. “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have done that if I knew… sometimes I have dates with vets.”

How the fuck did she know that about him? His left arm was completely covered. He hadn’t used it around her yet. Could she be HYDRA?

“Afghanistan?” she asked, and Bucky nodded vaguely.

He tried to breathe steadily and waited for the panic to dissipate, Dee’s hand rubbing his chest over the fabric of his shirt.

“I wish they’d looked after you better, I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Bucky pulled away from her then, staring at her. _“They?”_

She tensed, and he realized his mistake – she thought he was about to hurt her for asking too many personal questions.

“I meant the government,” she said. She looked over at her bag for a second.

Bucky put his face in his hands, foregoing any sense of dignity, his knee jiggling. He spoke in a muffled mutter:

“It’s just… me rememberin’…”

“I’m sorry,” she said again, but Bucky knew she was apologizing for his situation, showing him compassion. She didn’t sound too frightened.

He took his hands away, letting his gaze swing to hers.

“I lost my arm,” he said, and she nodded, understanding. “Fucked up stuff happened.”

He went quiet for a full minute, watching the TV. The smiling people were jarring to him. He was reminded all the time of the universe’s indifference to him. He sighed, feeling tired. The emotions of the day had finally caught up with him.

“My dick don’t work too good anymore.”

He would have gone a deeper red if it was possible, staring straight ahead. Dee’s hands rubbed his arm, before he felt her fingers glide through his still damp hair.

He closed his eyes, the sensation so welcome that a little sound escaped the back of his throat. His eyelids felt heavy and he sighed again, taking a deep breath.

“Sweetheart,” she murmured.

He felt sleepy, opening his eyes to glance at her, and she gave a little smile.

“You deserve it. Feeling good,” she said, and it just about broke his heart. She sounded so sincere. “Does that feel good?”

He nodded. She shifted closer, lips grazing his neck, and he shivered. She moved up to the side of his face.

“This okay?”

He nodded again, and he reached for her, allowing himself to feel her, his hand on her thigh. She petted him for a little while, kissing his face. She turned his head toward hers and she kissed him on the mouth, and he moaned, unable to control himself when her tongue nudged his mouth open, slipping between his lips.

“Can I touch you?” she whispered, and he pulled back, glancing down at his crotch, Dee’s eyes following. She reached for his belt and it was better watching her do it slowly, cautiously.

He didn’t know if he’d even get hard. He pictured her trying to get his soft cock to respond, the thing lying there, useless and sad. He took deep breaths as her fingers unbuckled the belt and popped the top button of his fly. The rasp of the zipper made him wince.

“Okay?” she whispered, and he nodded.

She reached into his boxers and Bucky gasped, raw and broken. He felt her – her fingers wrapping around his shaft. It was part of his body again, this thing between his legs. He felt a tingling, Dee’s eyes on him, her hand starting to move up and down.

As he predicted, his cock wasn’t working. It stayed soft in her hand as she pumped him, and Bucky tried to not read her face. Her face wasn’t neutral per se, her lips quirking as she massaged him.

“Handsome guy with this?” she murmured. “_Lucky_ 13, I think…”

Bucky let out something like a laugh, the sound surprising him. She met his gaze, smiling.

“Very handsome,” she amended. She looked him up and down. “Sexy.”

He looked at her full lips and the way her eyes flashed, flirty and assuring. He let out a huff of a breath, feeling a warm rush through him – unadulterated desire, and he licked his lips, moving to kiss her mouth again.

It was sloppier than before and rushed, his skin tingling again when they broke apart, Dee’s hand rubbing his cock. He was still soft, but he didn’t mind so much. Kissing her felt really, _really_ good. He squeezed her thigh, as gentle as possible, and she smiled at him.

The gap between her teeth – how had he not noticed that before? She was so cute…

She kissed his face, his jawline and further done to his neck. Bucky watched as she moved down to his chest, her nose brushing his shirt. She shifted off the bed, sitting on her knees…

“Is this okay?” she said, and her face was right next to his cock.

“Um…”

She waited and he nodded, transfixed, seeing her mouth that close to him. She stopped stroking him, making a cupping motion to move the soft skin and Bucky’s eyes shut, feeling the swipe of her tongue.

“_God,_” he gasped, and he opened his eyes, jaw clenching at the sight of Dee sucking his cock into her mouth.

There was that rush again, except he felt it intensifying around his crotch, and she let out a little sound, pulling back with an obscene popping sound.

“Lift off!” she whispered, and Bucky couldn’t believe it – he was fattening in her hand, his balls tightening. She smiled up at him. “That’s so good.”

“I…”

He didn’t know what to say, except when she sucked him back into her mouth he moaned, his heels digging into the floor, his hands balling into fists.

_“Dee…”_

As he grew, she sucked and licked at him, humming her approval. Soon enough she was drawing back with a contented sigh, strings of saliva falling from her mouth, sticking to his cock. She licked her lips, wiping her mouth, pumping him. Bucky could feel each new wave of arousal roll over him, his hips starting to rock, sounds ebbing from his mouth.

He didn’t think it would take much more, and he had no idea what would happen if he came. He couldn’t remember the last time it occurred. Sometime early on months ago when he was first in D.C., but it was shameful then, unlike now. Dee was watching her own hand play with him like she wanted to, like she couldn’t bear to look away.

“Dee,” he moaned again, trying to warn her.

She took him to the back of her throat, her muscles constricting around him, all tight and wet. Bucky tensed all over, sweat breaking out on his forehead. His eyelids fluttered and his hand came down to touch her, trying to get her to slow down, or stop…

“Dee…”

She pulled off, panting. “It’s okay, it’s okay…”

He thought he might burst into tears, it felt so fucking good. His breathing picked up speed and he felt the white bolt of pleasure run through him, and he lost vision.

_“Fuck…”_

He thought it might never stop, the feeling of weightlessness, her hand still on him, and he whimpered. There were tears in his eyes as he came crashing down, letting himself fall back onto the bed.

He panted, the room coming back to him, the smell of his musk in the air, the TV playing in the background. He heard Dee get up and grab some Kleenex from her handbag, before ducking into the bathroom to wash her hands. He didn’t open his eyes, blindly tucking himself back in his boxers, but after a few seconds he was useless, collapsing completely.

He felt a weight on his chest and he squinted, seeing nothing there. It was his own exhaustion, pressing him down into the mattress. Even his racing pulse felt too heavy. He imagined falling through the floor into the dark.

“James?”

He felt the bed dip and he blinked, feeling her beside him, something around his hairline. She was touching him again.

“You leavin’?” he mumbled.

The reality of that set in, that she was going, and he’d be alone again. He groaned softly as he lifted himself to rest on his elbows, Dee’s hand still touching his hair. She was looking down at him with a little smile on her face. He sat up, swinging his legs over the bed and moving toward the towel he used earlier, his hoodie in a little bundle beside it. He fished out the rest of his money.

“I… I don’t know how much I have,” he began, and Dee’s expression changed, her eyebrows knitted together. “Count it. I, uh… you should have it.”

She shuffled closer, taking it from him. She expertly unfolded them and counted in rapid succession, not pausing to think.

“There’s eight hundred dollars here. Eight hundred and twenty-three.”

“Take eight hundred,” Bucky said, and Dee’s eyebrows hiked.

“James, you can’t live off of twenty-three dollars. Trust me, I’ve been there,” she said. There was color in her cheeks. She was the flustered one now, pressing the wad into Bucky’s hand, trying to make him take it back.

“How much for you to stay the night?” he said, and Dee blinked, the words taking a moment to sink in.

“Uh… five hundred, I guess,” she murmured.

He counted out five hundred and handed it to her, curling her fingers around the stack.

“Please take it,” he said, and she stared down at the notes, perplexed.

“Why did…” She pressed her lips together, her sentence trailing off. She let out a breath, shaking her head. Whatever thought she had, she stored it away, picking up her handbag to put the money away.

She drew up her legs, crossing them and leaning forward. Bucky glanced down at the rest of his money.

“You had dinner? You hungry?” he asked.

He hadn’t said this much in months. The more he spoke, the more he noticed the sound of the voice that came out of him. It was still alien to him, someone else’s voice, speaking a different language. When Dee shook her head, she looked younger.

“No. I’m starving.”

Bucky gave a single nod, getting up to put his shoes on. He tugged the hoodie on, pulling the hood down and scrubbed his face. He could feel her watching him. He moved toward the front door, glancing at her.

“What do you like?” he asked, his voice small.

“Whatever you like,” she replied.

He held her gaze for several seconds, hoping she knew she didn’t have to say that. She was off the clock. She ducked her gaze, sighing.

“Don’t get me anything low-fat,” she murmured.

He left her to find the vending machines. He went a little over the top, grabbing several snacks and two drinks. He made his way back to the room, finding her still watching the talk show. She sat up a little straighter, her eyes widening.

“Oh.”

He felt like a cat dropping a dead bird at his owner’s feet. He watched her for a reaction. She picked a little chocolate cake with white icing on it, opening it and taking a bite.

“I love Little Debbie.”

That was a relief. He settled down beside her as she ate, the two of them silent, watching the TV. At one point, she leaned toward him, resting her head on his shoulder. When the show was over, she got up, flipping the channel over to a movie. Bucky hadn’t seen it before, but he got the impression Dee had. She chuckled under her breath, murmuring bits of dialogue. He kept glancing at her, distracted. At one point, she caught him staring.

She was so beautiful. It made his chest ache. He could go on the rest of his shitty life never seeing something as beautiful as Dee ever again. His eyes prickled.

“You okay?”

He sniffed, blinking. “Yeah. Tired.”

Instead of prying, Dee shoved the rest of the food away, brushing crumbs off of her lap, getting up to turn off the TV as Bucky lay back, staring at the ceiling. She crawled up next to him, looking down at him as she leaned on her elbow, her chin in her hand.

“Didn’t think a guy like you would need to pay,” she whispered, and Bucky turned his gaze to hers.

He’d never forget her eyes. Big and blue and endless. He didn’t know what to say to her. Any explanation he gave her was probably a lie. He didn’t like lying, even though he had to do it to survive now.

“My name isn’t James,” he replied, and she nodded.

“It’s fine… you don’t have to tell me,” she whispered.

Bucky’s throat felt tight. “I mean, I guess it was my name before… but… I can’t go back.”

Maybe it was a trick of the light, or his mind seeing what he wanted to see, but her eyes looked glassy for a moment and she blinked, reaching out to stroke his cheek.

“You can _always_ go back,” she whispered.

“I can’t,” he replied, a little pained smile spreading on his face.

He wished he could tell her everything. It was too much. He could be putting her in danger, if he hadn’t already. He lifted a hand to touch her, his gloved one, brushing the hair out of her face. Her lips parted and she moved to kiss him, tender and soft.

Dee pulled back, pressing her face into the sheets and groaning. That confused him, and she lifted her head again.

“You’re making this harder for me,” she whispered, and he felt his lips quirk, imitating her smile. “You’re so hot. And _sweet_. What the fuck…”

She kissed him again, shorter.

“Hooker with a heart of gold,” she muttered to herself. “Jesus. What a fucking cliché...”

She made it so easy to like her, with her filthy mouth and sweet smiles, her scent all around him, the warmth of her body pressing into his. He wrapped an arm around her waist, wanting to feel her more, hoping he remembered this well enough the next time he was alone.

She kissed him again and again, her breath hitching when he reached the skin under her shirt, tracing the muscles on her back, the curve of her breast. At one point, she pulled her lips away, to rest her head between his neck and shoulder, his arms around her.

“Go to sleep… You need it, I can tell…”

He drifted off, sure he was smiling like a fool in the dark, her hands in his hair.

-

He startled awake, tensing, gripping the sheet as the light seeped through his consciousness. He glanced to his left, seeing two bare thighs, Dee’s ankles crossed. His eyes snapped up to see her sitting with a can of Coke to her lips, looking down at him, her eyes creasing at the sides.

“Hey,” she breathed.

He blinked at her, remembering last night. He hadn’t dreamed it. He turned to his side, feeling different, rubbing his face. He hadn’t slept like that before. He could see the soft glow of dawn coming out from under the curtains.

“Full disclosure,” Dee said, putting her Coke aside, licking her lips. “I tend to ghost the guys I stay the night for.”

She lifted one brow and Bucky allowed himself to smile at her, tentative.

“I guess I decided to be an honest woman for once,” she said, and he felt his heartbeat pick up, because she turned toward him, hands wrapping around his neck.

Bucky felt something and he sucked in a breath, realizing. He woke up with a hard-on, the tent in his jeans obvious, pressing into Dee’s stomach.

“I…”

He meant to apologize but she pushed him in the chest, and he rolled onto his back, letting her dictate everything, including the kiss she gave him. She unbuckled his belt, pulling down his fly, her hand pressing into the hard length of him, making him moan.

“Let me,” she whispered, and he nodded, his chest heaving.

She moved back, grabbing something from her bag, a little foil square. He felt himself flush, seeing the condom in her hand, and she ripped it open, the little ring inside smelling of latex. Bucky watched her pause to pull off her shirt, throwing it aside. Her tits nearly spilled out of her bra cups, and Bucky stared, licking his lips.

A soft laugh escaped her and she tugged his flesh hand to rest against her breast, pushing it down. He gave a little squeeze, wanting more. She seemed to read his face, chuckling again, her hands going to the strap on her back, unclasping it and pulling her bra off. Her nipples were like magnets to Bucky’s hands, and he cupped her skin, remembering something like this happening before.

But Dee seemed incomparable. She was more than two handfuls, so soft and warm. Her lips parted when he teased a nipple, watching her face. He surged forward to kiss her, nuzzling her neck and shoulder, pulling her into his lap. He shoved down his jeans to his thighs, Dee’s hand still holding the rubber, her other hand in his hair.

He started to tremble when she pulled down her underwear, rolling the condom on. She climbed back up, sitting in his lap, rubbing herself against him. He moaned, his fingers biting into her hips. He could make out the hair between her legs. He could smell her musk mingling with his. She shifted, her eyes glued to his, hands pressed to his chest.

They both gasped when he sunk into her, Dee taking him inch by inch, slow and tight. She took him to the hilt, a little sigh escaping her. She moved up a little, rocking her hips. Bucky couldn’t keep his eyes or mouth closed, not wanting to miss anything. She was so close her two eyes became one, her lips pressing to his.

_“Dee…”_

She moved slow and deliberate, her little tight body all around him, making him feel light-headed, completely lost. She pulled his lower lip between her teeth, sucking on it, and he moaned louder, drawing his knees up until Dee’s ass brushed his thighs. He moved on instinct, rocking his hips, bucking into her as she pushed.

She gasped, catching him in another kiss. They kept going, kissing each other’s faces, Bucky’s teeth grazing her skin as he rocked into her, tongues tangling, and he felt it – she was wet, moaning in his ear. He took one hand and slid it down between them, remembering a girl whose name he’d lost, a girl from a lifetime ago…

“Dee, show me,” he whispered, and she looked down, before guiding him to the spot right beside her swollen bud, pressing down.

“There,” she whispered, and her eyes flew closed. She gave a happy sigh, then moaned again.

He watched her face, the way she seemed to fight with the feeling, the pleasure washing over her, and she tensed, squeezing him, panting. Bucky could feel it, too, the tightness, the need to release…

“Fuck,” he gasped, and he bucked into her, harder, and Dee’s eyes widened. “God…”

He came, shoving up into her, his grip tight on her hip, his finger still pressing down. His head fell back, hips stalling, ending it with a broken moan, feeling like every pore had opened up.

Dee leaned forward, kissing his face, moving off. Bucky felt a tug and glanced down, seeing her take off the condom and tie it off, walking away toward the bathroom.

He lifted his neck to watch her bare ass and he blinked, allowing himself to notice the satisfaction, the pleasure he’d had. He heard her flush the toilet and she was back, naked and covered in little pink marks, her fair skin flushed, her hands attempting the comb her hair with her fingers.

She caught him staring, dropping her hands, her breasts jiggling from the movement. She walked over, pulling her clothes out and tugging them back on. Bucky pushed down the blanket, pulling up his jeans and tucking everything back in place. Dee sat down on his side, Bucky’s hand finding hers.

“Did you…?” he began, and Dee blinked at him.

“Did I come?” she asked, and he nodded. “Yeah… You thought that was fake?”

He blinked at her, unsure of what to say. Dee turned her head, snorting.

“Well, that’s fair,” she whispered. “I wasn’t faking that.”

She moved down to kiss him and he sighed into it. Her hands cradled his face and he felt his chest tighten. She was so affectionate, and even though he paid her, he knew he’d wished he’d stayed longer.

“I have to go,” he whispered, and she nodded, knowing.

“Me, too.”

They separated, and Bucky got up to pee and pull on his shoes. He went to his hoodie pocket and tried again to give her more money, but Dee shook her head.

“Wherever you’re headed, you’ll need it,” she said.

“And you won’t?” he retorted, not sounding like himself.

Her eyebrow rose at his attitude. “I’ll manage.”

The thought of her doing this again with something else made him sad, and he looked away, clearing his throat.

“I can drive you,” she said, and he glanced at her, seeing she was serious.

“You don’t have to,” he said.

“I _want_ to,” she replied instantly, and he believed her. He watched her pick up her bag and look around, checking if she forgot anything. “So let’s go.”

He followed her out. He felt the dread seep in the second he shut the door behind him, the key heavy in his hand. He took it back to the reception, pushing it through the mail slot.

Dee waited for him and they fell into step together, Bucky’s guts twisting. He had to go back to looking behind all the time, searching for threats. They reached her car and she unlocked it, slipping into the driver’s seat. Bucky slipped in beside her, glancing around. The backseat was covered in papers and black garbage bags full of stuff. She didn’t seem to be living anywhere permanent, either.

“You sleep in here?”

The question slipped out before he could stop himself. The thought of her fending for herself made him anxious, and he wished he could fix that somehow, her being vulnerable.

“Yeah,” she replied, turning the engine on with some difficulty. She didn’t seem bothered by his invasiveness, only frustrated with her vehicle. “Piece of shit...”

She gave a short sigh.

“I’m… in between jobs right now,” she added. She met his gaze. “I guess no-one really aspires to sex work. It’s hard to make ends meet…”

“You don’t have to –” Bucky cut in, feeling his cheeks flush. “I get it. I… don’t have anywhere to go.”

Dee turned off the engine, moving her body toward him, reaching out to touch his knee.

“I can drive you to a shelter. They could help.”

“No,” Bucky rasped, looking down at her little hand, missing the bed already, missing her naked and warm against him so much his eyes stung. “It’s okay. I’m gonna buy a bus ticket and get outta here. Can’t stay.”

“Right,” Dee breathed. “Okay.”

She started the car again and nodded at his seat belt. He kept forgetting about those. The last car he stole kept beeping until he noticed the little red light flashing SEATBELT next to the rear view mirror.

He pulled it on, glancing around. It was still so early that he was certain they were the only ones up. Dee reversed and took off down the street.

The main street of town was several minutes away. She put on the radio, some tune Bucky didn’t recognize bursting through, tinny and irritating. She dialled the volume down, reading his face. The silence between them felt heavy.

They reached the bus station at the edge of town, an early morning jogger passing them as Dee pulled up at the curb.

“Okay,” she said, signalling him to leave.

Bucky nodded, moving his hand to release the seat belt, grabbing the door handle.

“James, wait.”

He froze, turning his head. Dee’s eyes were a little wider, her face changed. She came back to life, turning to reach behind her, grabbing a piece of scrap paper. She took a pen out from the glove box in front of him.

“If I give you a number, can you call it?” she asked, and Bucky blinked at her. “I want to know you’re okay.”

He loved her then. She didn’t know him at all and he loved her. He blinked, ducking his gaze.

“I… don’t have a phone.”

“Then…” she uncapped the pen, scrawling something down, pushing it toward him. “My mom’s address. Send a postcard, let me know. She’ll call me eventually. Actually…”

She took it back.

“Pay phones still exist, so…”

She didn’t understand how ironic that was, her mentioning something antiquated to her that was a natural occurrence to him. She added her phone number, passing it back.

“Okay,” he murmured. He felt himself smile before he could restrain himself. He looked down at the paper. She’d written a name.

“Darcy,” she said. “My name’s Darcy.”

Before he could say anything more, she tugged him by his grubby hoodie, catching him in a kiss. He grunted, his hand coming up to touch her face. She didn’t let him go for several seconds, only separating to press her forehead to his.

“I’ll miss you,” she whispered, the admission hushed, and she sniffled. “I know it’s stupid…”

“It’s not,” he whispered, kissing her forehead, holding her to him. “It’s not, it’s not…”

Her voice wobbled. “Please take care of yourself… Please…”

He couldn’t promise her that. He knew there was a very real possibility he could let her down. He kissed her face, trying to remember her behind his closed eyes, hoping she’d do the same…

Darcy pulled back, searching his face. She kissed his lips. She kept going in for more, in between her words.

“Write me… please…”

He didn’t want to let her go, but he had to. The longer he stayed, the worse it would get. He pulled back, his hand on the door handle again. It hurt, pulling away from her. He opened the door, stepping out. He walked to the curb, taking a deep breath before turning around, trying his best to keep still, to watch her leave.

He lifted his left hand, and Darcy copied him. There was a beat and he lowered his hand, adjusting the strap of his backpack. She turned her attention to the road.

Darcy turned her head, her eyes wide, and Bucky moved toward her door, her window lowering. He felt his heart in his throat but he kissed her.

“I’ll miss you.”

She gave a wet laugh, and he kissed her nose, pulling away. A moment later she took off, and Bucky glanced over at the bus station, the stores that were opening on the street.

Several hours later at a truck stop over the state line, Bucky bought a postcard. He didn’t think, just wrote the first thing that came into his head.

** _Darcy, _ **

** _You made me remember it won’t always be this way._ **

He paused, before taking the next plunge.

** _My name is Bucky. _ **


	2. ii.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been seven months but I was always going to come back to this. This second chapter is particularly heavy, so have a piece of cake handy or a glass of wine. 
> 
> This chapter is for my Bucky Barnes Bingo 2020 square "K3: Homeless".

_"I'm gonna leave my body (Moving up to higher ground)_   
_I'm gonna lose my mind (History keeps pulling me down)_   
_Said I'm gonna leave my body (Moving up to higher ground)_   
_I'm gonna lose my, lose my mind (History keeps pulling me, pulling me down)..."_   
**\- "Leave My Body" by Florence + the Machine**

_"Though I'm a geyser, feel it bubbling from below_   
_Hear it call, hear it call, hear it call to me, constantly_   
_And hear the harmony only when it's harming me_   
_It's not real, it's not real, it's not real enough..."_   
**\- "Geyser" by Mitski**

ii.

A screaming siren of a passing ambulance startled him. Bucky froze, eyes blinking rapidly as he scanned his surroundings, eyes darting around the garbage and sleeping figures he could make out in the distance.

He was under a bridge, if he remembered correctly. He was under a bridge and he must have dozed off for a few minutes. He didn’t remember shutting his eyes, but he recalled settling into his spot as best his body would allow. He did what he could to make himself smaller, to shrink by curling in on himself. He’d drawn his knees into his chest and hugged them, peeking out from behind his long hair.

He’d let it fall into his face nowadays like a mask. His scent also helped. In the last few months, things hadn’t gone to plan, and hot showers didn’t seem so important anymore.

He knew the difference between an ambulance siren and a cop car, which helped him collect himself among the spike of panic that resonated deep in his front, his heart and guts. From the group of strangers surrounding him, a croaking voice inquired:

“We gotta move?”

“Nah, s’okay,” replied another, which Bucky was grateful for.

He wasn’t sure of when he last spoke, but he didn’t feel like he was any condition to in that moment, even to comfort someone. He’d been in plenty of situations already that meant racing off when the law showed up to break up a group of homeless folk.

The source of the question, an elderly man with several missing teeth, a double-amputee, settled back into his spot, shivering.

The bridge was dry, but it was freezing. The fire from earlier was now embers in a burnt out barrel. Bucky never got too close to flames. As a general rule, he only hung around people if he had to, and he always kept a distance. Even if he was freezing his balls off.

The serum made it next to impossible for him to die from exposure, but he didn’t thrive in the cold. It reminded him too much of the snow in a distant prison camp from over half a century ago.

He blew out a shaky breath he could see in front of his face, shoving his hands back into his hoodie’s pockets, feeling a familiar piece of paper brush his flesh fingers. He clutched it tight, knowing it was the address Darcy gave him months ago.

He treated it like an anchor, one of the few good memories he could trust. He lost count of how many times he picked up the receiver at a payphone, fed it with coins, dialed the number she gave him, only to listen to a voice call out as he made no reply.

There was a disconnect, like he couldn’t move his feet forward no matter how hard he tried. He was frozen to the spot, feeling as if his skeleton could vibrate from under his skin into the open.

He’d spent the last few months moving from town to town, stealing where he could, and hiding among other homeless men. He watched the leaves turn and fall. He knew the snow was next. He knew he only had a little while until he wouldn’t be able to run anymore, at least not in the United States.

Unable to sleep once more, hypersensitive of everything around him, Bucky pushed his back against the stone behind him, slowly standing up. He slung his backpack over one shoulder and set off. He needed light. His eyesight was perfect, but he couldn’t see in the dark. He walked out into the open air, his eyes falling to the library that stood shut to his left. Further down the street were more lights hanging overhead, but it meant more people, more opportunities to trigger something.

He sat down on a park bench, looking around to check he was alone, his hand diving into his backpack. He took out his notebook with its biro pen tucked inside and opened it, rifling through the pages. He kept a little newspaper clipping from July and he always stared at it too long when he accidentally reached it.

He always meant to keep going, to flip through to a new page. The face was of the man from D.C., the one he pulled out of the water.

** _Captain America Turns 96_ **

The photograph accompanying the article showed a black and white image, the man wearing a mask with a chin strap, a star on his chest, a circular shield on one arm.

It always made Bucky’s guts churn and he flipped the page over, to press onto a blank page. The last thing he wrote was days ago, and he didn’t remember it.

** _Bananas_ **

The fuck did that mean? Bucky frowned at it. He stared at the word for a good minute, hoping it would spark something, but it felt like a waste of space on the page.

He heard footsteps and flinched, gripping the book in his hand as he stood up, glancing toward the source of the sound.

It was one of the men from the bridge, all skin and bones, looking sunburnt in the light of the streetlamp. Bucky didn’t move, only waited.

“Take it easy, buddy,” the man said.

His age was ambiguous, like Bucky hoped he seemed to outsiders. He’d grown out his beard to cover his face. The man in front of him probably did it incidentally, not out of choice. Men on the street didn’t think about personal grooming too much.

“You wanna split a bottle?”

_Of what, hooch?_ Bucky thought, and he blinked once, twice.

“No?” the guy said, and Bucky tensed as he stepped forward.

There was a flash, and Bucky knew it was the blade of a knife shining as the stranger took another step closer.

“Gimme your bag.”

This was all Bucky’s fault, he should have expected someone to follow him out if he made a fuss and stood out from the pack. The whole point of sleeping rough was to hide, and he’d broken every rule. He’d decided to come outside to look at his dumb notebook, and now –

“Fucking gimme your bag!” the stranger hissed, and Bucky blinked hard, thinking of the last time this happened, back in D.C.

“Don’t do this,” he whispered.

“Or what?”

He should have run instead of walking out from under that bridge. This was a witness, and every mission he ever had, there couldn’t be witnesses, or he’d have failed.

“You fucking –”

The man dove for him and Bucky grabbed his arms, the man yelling out. He pivoted them both and wrapped an arm around his neck, grunting when he felt the knife manage to break through the material of his sleeve and reach his skin.

The chokehold took less than a minute to put him under, but Bucky couldn’t catch his breath as he stood back, staring at the man on the ground.

He was relieved that he managed to do act in self-defense and not break his neck in his panic. He picked up his notebook from the ground and shoved it back into his backpack, shouldering it as he whipped his head around, listening out for life.

There was nothing, only the distant sounds of cars on the highway, and he took off into the night, his heart racing.

-

He spent a couple of days with his notebook, wracking his brains for a plan.

His new mission became exodus. He needed money and a passport, and he needed some way to get both without raising suspicions, which was next to impossible. He’d have to improvise, and rely on methods he’d used when he used to watch himself from the outside.

He needed money, which he could get, but he needed thousands of dollars for a fake passport. If he got a fake passport, he’d need some way of getting out of the country without the people from his memories finding out.

He wanted to get to Europe, since he knew how to speak several languages. He’d thought he’d imagined that, but since traveling around, he’d heard conversations in public without meaning to. If he got to Europe, he could find some quiet town, somewhere he’d melt into.

It sounded almost stupid to him, hoping for that. He let it ruminate, let it become like the anchor of Darcy’s phone number and address.

He’d send her postcards from there. He’d tell her all about his new life, his letters and mementos probably getting lost along the way, but he’d do it anyway, to send out the good things he’d be celebrating…

He needed to eat more, his empty stomach was making him fucking delirious.

-

_“Wipe him. Start over.”_

There was a face leering over his as he jerked with electric shocks, his teeth biting down on the rubber bit shoved in his mouth.

Bucky was ripped from his dream, and he wondered how it was possible, until someone yelled out:

“Keep it down!”

He was covered in sweat, shivering as he glanced around, sensing faces glaring at him. He passed a shaking hand over his face, trying to feel the ground beneath him as he smelt body odour and piss.

“What I do?” he mumbled, to no-one in particular.

“You were screaming,” came a new voice, and his eyes swung to meet a pair of large brown eyes outlined with kohl, a young woman staring at him with her face lit up by her phone screen.

She looked like someone’s kid sister, she was that young, and Bucky watched as she went back to her phone, undisturbed by his outburst. Her skin was dark and unblemished, but her nose was running and she swiped at it with a dirty sleeve carelessly.

“What do you want,” she muttered, not looking up.

“Nothin’,” Bucky managed to reply.

“If you try anything –”

“I’m not gonna,” Bucky retorted.

“- I’ll _cut you_. Alright, white boy?” she snapped, leveling his gaze once more.

Bucky didn’t need proof. Her eyes were fierce, but it was more than her youth that propelled her. She was a survivor, glaring back at him. Bucky knew he’d kill her in seconds, but if he was an ordinary man, she’d undoubtedly put up a good fight.

Bucky nodded once, his jaw tensing.

He closed his eyes, letting his head fall back to the brick wall behind him. He remembered he was in a new city, but he couldn’t name it. He thought about getting up to check to find a street sign somewhere except he didn’t want a repeat of the knife incident.

“You good, bro?” the girl said, and Bucky looked at her again, frowning. “You – you good?”

He didn’t know how to answer that. She probably assumed he was intoxicated, which he knew was perfectly understandable. He wasn’t altogether _there_, most of the time. He looked away, not answering her, and she went back to her phone once more, not particularly bothered either way.

He tried to not think about her being on the street, since it wasn’t his business even if she told him about it. He was in no position to try to protect her, since he didn’t trust himself enough to help her or even speak to her longer than a couple minutes.

He shouldn’t be around people. He should never be around people again, he didn’t remember dropping down against this brick wall in the dark. His lack of memory was alarming, and he had ignored that fear for some time.

It couldn’t be the first time he’d thought he was dangerous because of blacking out. Maybe he couldn’t remember _that_, that he was trying to keep away from everyone…

He scratched his beard, his guts twisting. He pushed off from the wall anyway, hands going back to his hoodie’s pouch.

He pulled out the little piece of paper with Darcy’s address and had a sick feeling come over him anew. Her handwriting looked a lot like his.

He stared down at it, distracted. He felt a hand on his shoulder and jolted, jumping back. He blinked back reality and saw he was somewhere else entirely.

“Hey, buddy, you gotta move on.”

It was daytime, and a young Asian man with a sheepish look on his face was watching him wearily as Bucky looked around, in some hopeless attempt to orient himself.

“My gran’s gonna call the cops if you don’t get outta here.”

Bucky thought he must have fallen asleep on a park bench when he was actually in some little courtyard with a tiny bird bath under a tree to his left. His eyes travelled over to his right, and he saw the little gate he must have come through.

He dashed off, still holding the little piece of paper. He felt a stinging and winced, turning his flesh hand over to see his knuckles were split. It didn’t take him long to heal usually, so that had to be a recent injury.

All he could remember was that girl asking him if he was okay…

-

_“Coming back, it’s never easy. Adjusting to civilian life is worse than being out there, for some guys. It’s the sad reality, but living after war is always a challenge. In some ways, smaller than others…”_

Bucky blinked hard, licking his dry lips. He could smell coffee and stale air of cigarette smoke in too small of a room. He felt the heat of another man in front of him and tried his best to not visibly startle.

He was sitting in a room with rows of folding chairs, with a dozen men sitting in rows, a speaker standing at the front. Their ages ranged from young to elderly, and some of them wore medals on their jackets. Others wore hats, covering their faces.

Bucky could smell himself, and it was near unbearable, the sudden onslaught to his nostrils. He glanced down, seeing he wore the same hoodie and pants. He was covered in dirt and grime, flecks of it settling on the linoleum floor beneath his feet. His chair was plastic and offered no support to his back.

He must have come here because he knew these guys were veterans. There was a sign behind the speaker:

** _Hope For Heroes_ **

Bucky swallowed hard, passing a hand over his face as his knee began to jiggle. He was sitting a whole row behind everyone. He must have slipped in the back earlier, but he knew his stench would be hard to ignore. The nearest man to him was sitting with his arms folded and hunched over, a program in his hand.

Bucky was still holding the piece of paper from Darcy, and he looked down at it again, fearing he’d lose time again if he did so, but he was lost. He needed something concrete.

The address was in New York State. What the hell was Darcy doing all the way in California as a working girl? It unsettled Bucky, and suspicions began to stack up again effortlessly.

He saw her twice before he paid her for the night. She was like a dream, built like a Coca-Cola bottle. She looked like the girls they painted on planes, back in –

Maybe he made that up. All of it. He made up that he was in some war, way back. Maybe he never met Darcy and he jerked off in some hotel, and he was so pathetically alone he’d made himself believe it.

He felt the weight of his cybernetic arm, so that wasn’t fake. He looked over at the speaker, who was spouting some shit about post-traumatic stress, and Bucky shot up from his chair with a loud shove of its legs. Several men looked his way, including the speaker, who smiled at him.

Bucky could kill them all without blinking. He’d round them up and snap each of their necks, or beat them to death. He’d torch the place, too, just to make sure.

He’d do that if he was told to, with the right words. What was buried deep inside him wasn’t just memories, but a real-life monster.

He stormed out, bursting into a parking lot as he pulled out that fucking piece of paper again. He stared at the address, trying to remember what he wrote to her, on that dinky little postcard. The harder he tried, the murkier it all got, and then he knew he’d never get anywhere.

-

_“You can _always_ go back.”_

Darcy’s eyes so close to his her two became one, and she was so warm and soft in his arms, the scent of her hair enveloping him. Her face was nestled in between his shoulder and neck, her nose rubbing him as she sighed contentedly.

“Darcy…”

He wanted to argue, but the words died on his lips. He was so happy there, finally safe. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, his hand idly stroking her bare lower back. He moved to roll them so he was on top of her, wrapping her thighs around his middle.

She lifted her chin to kiss him on the mouth, her mouth opening to let him in with another sigh, and she was closing her eyes as their kiss deepened, her breath hitching when he glided against her –

There was a smack of their lips as they were broken apart, and Bucky yelled out her name, smelling smoke, and Darcy screamed.

Bucky knew those screams, the kind a human only made when they were truly frightened, when they knew their struggle was futile. He’d heard those screams when he’d stabbed a woman in the stomach repeatedly, after he did the same to her husband moments earlier. The husband didn’t die alone, and the wife only didn’t die alone because Bucky was watching her.

His hands were bloody as he tried to reach for her, but she backed into a wall as he tried to crowd her, to touch her skin. He was staining her, dirtying her beautiful face twisted in fear. 

He woke, sitting upright and felt a weight on his chest. He glanced down, seeing a seat belt.

He retched, his hand fumbling for the door handle to open it, and then he was vomiting on the gravel, emptying himself of whatever he last ate, which he couldn’t remember. He kept going, his nose and eyes running, until there was nothing left, and then he was shutting the door and panting with sweat on his brow, his head throbbing with the effort.

He opened the door once more to spit the last of the bile, scrubbing his mouth with his gloved left hand, his whole body trembling.

He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for it to subside. The dread had already begun to trickle in, among the realization that he was dog-tired and running on fumes.

Did he kill Darcy?

-

He woke in the same car, hearing rain on the roof as he blinked back the present. He knew he’d had another nightmare, seeing the eyes of a handler from long ago still looming over him. He checked with a quick glance over his shoulder that he was in fact alone and not strapped down to the chair, awaiting the routine shocks.

It was pitch dark and he realized he’d stopped there for the night, whenever that was, and there was no sign of life. The road he’d pulled over on was empty, with no streetlights or markings to give him any idea of where he was.

He made the mistake of checking his face in the rear view mirror, seeing dead eyes staring back at him when he switched on the tiny light above his head. The slammed the little bulb off again, drawing in a sharp breath.

He reached behind him blindly for a snack, finding something in a plastic package among the trash in the backseat. He unwrapped it and bit it in half.

It was a Twinkie he couldn’t really taste. He needed the fuel. He needed a hot meal, but this would have to do. He thought about finding some place with burgers, but once he inspected the clock as he started the engine, he saw it was past 3AM and he didn’t want to contend with the skeleton crew of some roadside diner.

He knew why he was still in this car. He decided at some point that he needed to know for certain whether or not Darcy was a dream or a memory, and he needed to be certain if he’d hurt her or not.

He didn’t know what he’d do if he found out his worst fear – that he’d become close enough to someone only to hurt them because he was out of control. He knew he was fucked up and damaged beyond repair, but a part of him hoped that he wouldn’t hurt someone by accident.

He managed to ascertain he was on his way to New York State, and he was a few days away from arriving at least. He just needed to keep himself from blacking out to stick to his plan, and then he could leave for good.

-

The address Darcy gave him was of a two-story house in a quiet suburban neighborhood a couple hours away from the city. Everything about it was so perfectly ordinary that Bucky felt like a blight on the map of it as he walked down the block to find 34 Maiden Avenue.

He’d ditched the car when he got within several miles’ walking distance from the house. It made sense to, since in all likelihood the car owner had reported it missing. He wiped down the dashboard and handles as best he could with a stash of baby wipes and scrubbed at his filthy hands, shoving all his trash into a bag he dumped in a can he found along the way.

Bucky’s throat was sore from the icy air as he walked briskly, his head down with his backpack slung over one shoulder. At least it was night time. If he walked through here during the day, he’d attract too much attention.

He just needed to confirm Darcy was alive and well. He didn’t need some big reunion. He wouldn’t do that to her, when he looked like this. He’d given himself a sponge bath in a truck stop bathroom sink, but he knew his scent was still invasive. He should probably get some new clothes when this was over, burn this old hoodie, and finally brush his hair with something other than his fingers.

Thankfully, the streets were empty of people and only the occasional car drove by, oblivious of Bucky’s intentions. It didn’t stop him from checking each stranger’s face as they sped past him. One man was whistling and tapping his finger along to a tune blasting through his radio, and Bucky thought about his life and how he’d managed to still enjoy something as simple as that song.

Bucky knew envy was a possibility when he got here, but he didn’t deserve to be jealous of anyone here. He’d murdered hundreds of people, he wasn’t like anyone who lived here. He wasn’t like those veterans in that meeting, sharing their stories of post-combat struggle…

He stopped walking, closing his eyes to compose himself, swallowing down the urge to self-abuse. He’d have plenty of time to do that later, he needed to find Darcy right now.

He read a letterbox number and his heart began to hammer as he realized he was only a few houses away. He held his breath as he pushed forward, his boots feeling heavier.

When he got to the house, its Halloween decorations still up, he stopped dead, his lips parting as he hid behind an oak tree in the path of the living room window.

The lights were on, with two separate cars in the driveway. Darcy’s little Nissan sat behind a station wagon and Bucky’s heart leapt.

_It could still be a coincidence_, a voice at the back of his mind sneered. _You could’ve seen that car anywhere, Soldat. You most likely jerked off alone that night like the disgusting animal you are._

That was true. Bucky didn’t have concrete proof of anything that happened. The paper he looked down at now with the scrawled writing could be his own writing. He could be stalking Darcy. She could be an old mission he wanted to finish. He could still be working for HYDRA.

He hadn’t want to think about that, not for weeks and weeks, but he had those gaps missing, things beginning to stack up and cast that shadow of doubt across everything.

“Stop,” he whispered aloud, shutting his eyes.

He heard a distant laugh and his eyes snapped toward the sound, and –

He didn’t dare blink, in case it meant he’d be finding himself in another time, another place, like this spell could break. He stared at the woman he saw in the window, a glass of wine in one hand as she laughed at something on the TV that played in the background.

It was like tuning into a radio station with a poor connection. Bucky strained his ears to hear everything, trying desperately to clasp on what he managed to find, his heart in his throat.

“Mom?” Darcy called. “I’ll just pick up a pie from the store.”

Bucky strained to remember if there was a reason she’d be there, and then it clicked into place. He’d only come here because it was Thanksgiving, and Darcy would be visiting her mother. She was practically glowing under the soft yellow light of the living room, her long hair cascading over one shoulder as she continued to call to her mom, their back and forth ignored as Bucky watched her laugh, throwing her head back.

He felt a little sick, recognizing it was fresh anxiety taking over as he began to shake. Since she was real, it meant she was vulnerable, and he’d come all this way, potentially putting her life in danger…

_She’s not yours to touch._

He knew that. He didn’t need the voice to tell him that. Even if he wasn’t homeless and filthy, even if he was dressed like her, all cable-knit sweaters and smiles, she wasn’t his to touch, not after everything he’d done.

He couldn’t make himself leave, even after all that. He stayed under the tree, watching Darcy with her mother, who looked just like her.

He thought of Darcy being older, imagining what she’d look like with a young adult daughter. He didn’t mean to, and he hated that his mind still managed to steer in that direction, with a kind of wistfulness that only ever hurt him.

He was surprised he managed to daydream about a future he’d never see. He thought that had completely snuffed out decades ago, in between the shocks and the bullets and screams and blood. Once you drain the hope from another human being’s eyes, it’s hard to picture anything happy ever again when you’ve reached the core of someone. There’s no turning back from that.

_Getting a bit deep and meaningful, Soldat? You think a little philosophizing will make you less of a monster?_

He tasted bile and turned his body swiftly away, ducking to vomit on the curb side. He was as quiet as possible, his head aching when he stood up once more, and then he heard a door opening and he shrank away, a spike of adrenaline propelling him into a hiding spot behind a car sitting in the street.

Darcy appeared, wearing a coat as he walked out to her car, unlocking it and slipping inside the driver’s seat. Her car struggled to start and Bucky could hear her swear spectacularly from inside, until it finally turned over and she began to back out into the street.

Bucky was where he belonged, staying hidden. He needed to leave before he managed to screw this up anymore. The last thing he wanted was to hurt or scare her.

“You know what you have to do.”

He jumped, eyes widening at the sight of Alexander Pierce as he hovered above. He was always so calm in his ruthlessness.

“No,” Bucky said, squeezing his eyes shut. “You’re not here.”

“I tell you the truth, Soldier. And the truth is she has to go, because she’ll lead back to you, and we can’t have that. It is unacceptable.”

“Please,” Bucky rasped, curling up, wrapping his arms around his knees and he began to tremble. “Please stop…”

He remembered without meaning to a time when he hadn’t eaten for three days, a silent protest after a mission. The wiped him but he hadn’t gone back into cryo. They were switching around handlers, there was some management change.

His introduction to Alexander Pierce was a tube up his nose.

“I’m gonna keep you alive as long as I need you.”

It was Hell; that could be the only explanation. Bucky was in Hell and he could never leave, as long as Pierce was there.

It didn’t matter how much he pleaded, prayed to a god he didn’t believe in to let him go, to let him die along the way. It only made him turn numb as he buried himself under all the layers of scar tissue.

_You were built for this, Soldat. You think they were ever gonna let you go? No way, baby. You spat on the legacy of the men you once served alongside. _

He should have died when he fell from that train. He didn’t need the voice to tell him that. He should’ve died to save all the innocent lives he snuffed out.

He wouldn’t have this goddamn arm, either. He began to scratch at the edges, desperate for the weightlessness of a missing limb. He’d give anything to be rid of it, but he knew it would take more than his flesh fingers to pry himself away from it –

“I-I’m armed! Don’t move!”

Bucky blinked toward the voice, knowing he knew it, and his eyes met Darcy’s as the suburban street came back to him. She was standing over him, holding not a gun but a taser, her eyes wide in fright as she aimed it at him, her legs in a shooter’s stance.

Bucky put his hands up, panting. He felt a stinging pain and winced, feeling the wetness of blood on his left shoulder.

“I mean it, don’t move, creep! I’m calling the cops.”

He must have drawn attention to himself during his flashback, and she’d come to investigate and found him snooping behind the car.

“Please,” he managed to say. “Please get your mom and run. Run away.”

She blinked rapidly, her shoulders slumping as her mouth fell open.

“Oh, my God. _Bucky_,” she breathed.

Hearing her say that name out loud made his eyes smart instantly, like she’d flipped a switch, and he shook his head, moving to scramble to his feet.

“Bucky –”

“No, no, no,” he whispered, but she was moving toward him, shoving the taser in the back pocket of her jeans as she tried to reach for his face.

“What _happened_ to you, honey?”

“I can’t be here, I can’t – y-you have to get away –”

“Honey, don’t hide from me,” she whispered, and he could hear she was choked up, and he couldn’t look her in the eye.

If he looked her in the eye, it was all over for him.

“Buck, my mom gave me the postcard yesterday. I thought I’d never see you again…”

“I was scared you – I was scared you’d got hurt. I have to go –”

She wasn’t letting him go, and her hand on his face was stroking his cheek, attempting to soothe him.

“Honey, you’re bleeding.”

“It’s fine,” Bucky babbled. “I have to go, I have to go…”

He blinked hard, feeling himself begin to float away, and then he was glancing down, at the man in dirty clothes with wild eyes and frightful sweat pouring down his face.

The woman beside him, her words so soft, cut him straight to the bone.

“We’ll go to a clinic, it’s only a couple blocks away. I’ll drive you. Someone can look at you…”

-

“Sir, can you hear me?”

Bucky blinked at the light shone in his eyes, squinting a second later when he came to, feeling a hand pressing on his chest. They weren’t what he was used to, he was being handled with a gentleness and care he’d forgotten could exist.

“Yeah,” he rasped.

He was on a hospital bed, scissors cutting his hoodie away, and he heard a little gasp in the corner on the suite, and he knew it was Darcy watching from her chair as two nurses circled him with latex-gloved fingers.

His bare chest revealed infected wounds, bruises and scars Bucky didn’t remember getting. He looked like he’d had the shit kicked out of him and he’d simply forgotten. He sucked in a breath, feeling his heart begin to race.

“Bucky, is it? Bucky, can you tell me where you are?”

“I don’t… I don’t know. New York?” he whispered, so softly he was almost inaudible.

He could feel a sob bubbling up that he couldn’t squash, as a nurse began to note each laceration and mark to their partner to write down on a clipboard.

“You’re okay. You’re okay.”

Darcy was up from her seat and clutching his flesh hand between her two.

“Thank you,” he whispered to the nurse, who lay a hand on his bare arm, a little smile forming on her face.

“You’re welcome.”

Something as simple as that gesture made Bucky burst into tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [my Tumblr](http://grimeysociety.tumblr.com/)


	3. iii.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for coming on this journey with me. I can't believe I've actually finished it. 
> 
> This chapter is for my Bucky Barnes Bingo 2020 square "C2: It Wasn’t Worth It".

_"I was blessed with love to love you_   
_Till the stars burn out above you_   
_Till the moon is but a silver shell..."_   
**\- "No Other Love" by Jo Stafford**

**iii.**

Darcy gave him dignity, which had been a luxury for Bucky for decades. He lost that luxury among the gore and filth, in the depths of those laboratories and cages. He knew it wasn’t something he’d be granted by most people, because of the past.

In all likelihood, she would run away once she knew the truth, but he didn’t know how to tell her everything without endangering her further. He could barely speak when he was drifting in and out of sleep in that clinic, let alone tell her to leave. He was surprised he felt the room at all, the pillow beneath his head. He was convinced he’d wake somewhere else with no memory of how he got there, like always.

The thought of leaving Darcy without remembering if he said goodbye filled him with a sharp fear, mingled with a longing he hadn’t felt for anyone in a long, long time.

He was awoken sometime later, by a warm hand to his face, and he knew it was Darcy before he opened his eyes. He could smell her and hear her soft voice, murmuring to him.

“How are you feeling?”

“I…”

He wanted to stay in the warmth of her, curl his arms around her and bury his face in her neck. At least there he would never have to move again, he’d only know comfort, and there’d be no pain. He thought maybe death would feel that way, hoped that if he was ever cut down that he’d go fast and think of a nicer time. He could use this memory, of her face swimming above his eyes, her plush lips parted as she stroked his cheek.

“We can go home,” she said, and he nodded dumbly, transfixed by those goddamn blue eyes.

He began to sit up with a stifled grunt, feeling more pain than before, swinging his legs over the bed. Darcy stood back, placing her hand on his shoulder.

“I don’t want to scare you, so – they cut a bit of your hair, not all of it, but you had a nasty cut on head behind your…”

She gestured to her own head with a finger, then Bucky’s hand shot up to press a hand to the bandage among the mass of his hair. It stung, and he winced.

“Don’t touch, honey,” Darcy said, taking his hand away. “I didn’t want them cutting it all off, but I think we should wash it when we get back, at least…”

She kept going on but Bucky was distracted, at the way her hips looked in her jeans, because she was bending slightly at the waist as she spoke to him. His eyes fell to the way her waist came in and he itched to reach out, feeling a tingling all over his face, memories of her body from the last time he was this close…

“Bucky,” she whispered, and he looked at her again, caught, and she was smiling at him. “You good?”

He nodded, and she turned away to grab his backpack from the chair beside the wall. He hesitated, before he stood up, looking around for his boots.

Without any warning, Darcy retrieved them and knelt in front of him, fitting each foot in and then helping tie them.

He knew that she was his, and perhaps she wasn’t before and now she was, or perhaps she always had been and he’d only realized just now. She stood up, smiling again, and there was no questioning it, he was going with her. He chose not to run away.

In her car, she put her radio on and fiddled with the stations, as Bucky waited for the car to move, bracing himself for any jerky movements.

“You like Kasabian?”

He stared at her, knowing that the questions she had had wrong answers. He was a freak, even if he wasn’t from another time, since he had no idea what she meant. He heard music in stores and playing through speakers at run-down motels but he couldn’t distinguish anything, and everyone seemed to be singing about things he’d never know.

It was like the world wasn’t his to be in and he didn’t know how to explain that.

“That’s okay. You like older stuff? Led Zeppelin?”

Bucky blinked at her.

“That’s okay,” she said again, and she changed it over to another station, and another song came through entirely different to what was there before, something more familiar in style to Bucky’s own taste.

_You don’t listen to music, Soldat. You haven’t got time for art. What do you need that flowery shit for, anyway?_

Bucky wanted to argue back, let me have this. Darcy wanted to listen to music, so why couldn’t Bucky for once? His heart was pounding as the song built, a fuzzier recording, with an orchestral backing as a woman began to sing.

Bucky watched Darcy as she drove, and she seemed pulled into the song as well, her face changing with each passing line.

_No other love can warm my heart_

_Now that I've known the comfort of your arms_

_No other love, oh the sweet contentment_

_That I find with you everytime, everytime_

He knew he hadn’t said a word in a while, and the song seemed to speak for him, among the confusion he felt. He kept thinking he’d blink too much and wipe away the car and Darcy’s smile and wake in a ditch somewhere.

He felt a new wave of embarrassment, remembering his stench, and he wondered how she managed to stand it, since his clothes were so dirty… and then he remembered he’d been cut out of them and he was wearing new sweatpants and a hoodie. He’d heard Darcy popping the tags off of them when he was drifting in and out of the present.

He looked down at himself, turning his left hand over. He balled it into a fist, the soft whirring of the limb still able to be heard over the music.

“I didn’t know the military makes prostheses like that,” Darcy said, not looking away from the road in front of her.

“They don’t,” Bucky replied, because they did not.

His abomination was one-of-a-kind, sculpted to his frame with priceless adamantium. He saw the flash of confusion on Darcy’s face and he knew it was a mistake, being honest, but he couldn’t pretend his arm was standard issue. He hoped to then ease into telling her she was in danger, like he’d tried to when she confronted him with her taser.

“Darcy…”

“We’re here,” she said, and he glanced out the window to see the street he was on before, and his stomach twisted with anxiety.

“Your mom, does she know?”

“I told her a friend of mine wasn’t well so I took them to the clinic,” she replied, and she put on her blinker, before turning into the driveway.

The car gave a short bounce and Bucky winced, his chest still sore, his eyes scanning the house. The lights weren’t on and he glanced at the clock on the display above the radio.

“That clock’s busted,” Darcy said. “It’s after midnight.”

Bucky remembered it was Thanksgiving and he felt knew shame, that he’d ruined the night. He opened his mouth to begin apologizing but Darcy said:

“She’s not my real mom. She’s like my aunt. She… doesn’t know about my situation,” she said, and Bucky snapped his mouth shut, nodding. “She said I could bring you back here, but I need to leave in the morning. I was planning to, anyway.”

He wanted to ask, where she’d been. He wanted to know who else she slept with, and whether there was anyone else like him, in the sense that she’d wanted them to keep in touch.

His eyes fell to his hands and he was silent, as Darcy gave a little sigh.

“Can you talk to me, Bucky?” she said.

He looked up at her again as she turned in her chair, shutting off the lights and put the car into park. She took out the car keys as Bucky’s face flushed.

“I’m sorry I fucked up your night,” he rasped, and Darcy shook her head.

“No, I mean, I want you to tell me about what you’re going through.”

She sounded so patient, the gentleness of her voice enough to make his chest ache. She was almost too good, and he had no business being near her, or knowing her name, let alone being held by her like she was trying to now. She reached for his metal hand and took it without fear, threading their fingers together.

“Do you see people who aren’t there?”

Bucky nodded, a lump forming in his throat.

“Buck, are you going to hurt yourself?”

“No,” he managed to reply, his voice thin. “I’m not. I want to get away, leave the country.”

“Why?” Darcy asked. “Why do you want to leave it behind?”

“Because I ain’t safe here,” he whispered, shutting his eyes. “You ain’t either, sweetheart.”

“I can look after myself,” she said, and his eyes opened, of all things a little bitter laugh ebbing from his mouth.

“Not with this, not with this…”

“Why?” she pressed, and he shut his mouth, shaking his head.

He felt her reach out and touch his face and he bit his cheek, shaking his head some more. She gave another sigh, then pulled away from him, going to open her door.

“Let’s go inside.”

He obeyed, feeling himself dragged upright by the need to please her, an old urge to avoid pain in the past. He’d been trained to oblige to any order, but he knew he wanted to stay a little while, at least until he was ripped away by his own mind or some other circumstance beyond his control.

Darcy’s hand slipped into his and they walked up to the front door. She unlocked it and they slipped inside. The house smelt of food, potatoes and gravy, and cranberries.

Darcy tugged him along, down a dark corridor to a flight of stairs. Bucky had been in houses just like this one before, and those memories always ended with blood and screams muffled under pillows. He never covered faces because he couldn’t stand the sight of someone dying, it was always the sound that concerned him.

He must have stopped because he was tugged along, up the stairs, soft footsteps on carpet as they climbed. They got to a room with an open door and Darcy flipped on the light, shutting the door behind him.

“The bathroom's through there,” she whispered, pointing behind him and Bucky turned around, seeing the pale white tiles and toilet through another open doorway.

Darcy had a carrier bag she’d got his new clothes out of earlier and she dug into it now, holding up a pair of scissors and some razors in a package.

“There’s washcloths and towels in the cupboard under the sink,” she added, handing him the equipment. “You need help?”

He hadn’t been asked that in so long that the question threw him completely. He didn’t ask for help, usually, and he wasn’t ever granted it. He thought of other situations over the years, when handlers wanted his compliance, and they hadn’t read the memo. There wasn’t anything he couldn’t or wouldn’t do, so the stick and carrot method didn’t necessarily apply.

“You want help?” Darcy asked, as if he hadn’t heard her properly. “Honey?”

When he still couldn’t answer her, she placed a hand on his waist and guided him toward the bathroom, flipping on another light. He was met with a man’s face, a wild beard and cold blue eyes, in the mirror and he flinched, ducking his gaze to Darcy instead.

“Okay,” she said hastily, catching on instantly. “Okay, you’re okay. You’re okay.”

Again, without warning, she pulled him into her to hug him and he went still, too terrified to move. Darcy pulled back, taking the items she handed him, and put them on the sink.

“I’ll get the shower going and you can get undressed.”

She opened the shower door and leaned in to turn it on and his eyes fell to her rear. She turned back, going to the door, their eyes meeting.

“Stay,” he blurted, and she nodded, her hand leaving the doorknob.

She stepped closer to him, reaching for his hoodie to tug it off. He grunted in pain again, as his whole body felt like a giant ache, and Darcy made a little sound when his bare chest and stomach was revealed again, but she seemed to push it back, whatever she was feeling, to focus on the task.

“Pants, too,” she whispered, and he nodded.

He was naked around other people quite often over the years. Being a machine, he had no need for modesty. He wasn’t ashamed of his body, but with how she was close to him, and all of him was on display, Bucky felt a nagging shame coming back.

_You’re ugly all over, Soldat. Not just on the inside. She can’t stand the sight of you, baby._

He moved past her finally, slipping into the stall, feeling the water hit his skin. He gave a little gasp, his flesh shoulder colliding with the tiled wall. He didn’t shut the door, unable to trust himself with the privacy. If she was watching, maybe he’d not lose control, and then the voice reminded him:

_You’re going to kill her, if you don’t scare her off first._

Everything felt futile, but he didn’t want to be alone.

“Soap,” she murmured, and his eyes snapped to hers through the open door, the water beating against his chest.

He nodded, grabbing a bottle of some body wash with a picture of a frangipani on it, and he uncapped it, letting himself feel the slippery substance in his palm as the sweat scent filled the air.

He lathered himself all over, rinsing and doing it all over again a second time, hoping to get every crevice. He didn’t remember the last time he showered.

“Wash everything,” Darcy said, and he looked at her again. She gave a little smile, and he saw she was turning pink. “Bucky, _everything_.”

He looked down, remembering he needed to wash his dick and he felt his lips quirk. Were they flirting? He swallowed, lathering everything as Darcy gave a soft laugh, rolling her eyes.

“I’m a thirsty gal, I’m sorry.”

He supposed she meant it was a bad thing, but the way she blushed made his stomach pool with desire, and he thought of another man, the one who enlisted and charmed women with his low voice and cheeky smiles.

If he were here, that man, he’d tug on himself with his eyes glued to Darcy’s. He might even pull her into the stall and tug her clothes off to get at her skin, his mouth all over her soft curves.

“God,” he said out loud, and he felt his dick twitch.

“I’m sorry,” Darcy said again, and Bucky shook his head.

“Not your… not your fault,” he whispered, unsure of how else to respond.

He closed his eyes, leaning his head toward the spray to wash his face, to try to ground himself. He heard Darcy move away from the stall, before rummaging in the carrier bag. Bucky shut off the water and stepped out again, taking the towel he was handed and rubbed himself all over.

“I got you underwear,” she said, and he took the pair.

There was a beat and Bucky dried his hair haphazardly, their eyes meeting. There was a hesitation from her now, which he wasn’t used to receiving.

“Do you… wanna share my bed?” she asked, and he blinked at her.

“Yeah.”

It seemed to mean something to her then and she smiled, before pressing her lips together to try to smother her glee, taking the towel from him so he could dress, looping in over the bar next to the shower stall.

“I’ll get ready for bed, then,” she murmured, leaving him.

Bucky tugged on the underwear, looking over at the sink where the scissors were. He picked them up, took a deep breath and looked into the mirror at the phantom that faced him.

He began to snip away at his long beard, hairs falling in clumps into the sink. He took hold of his mane and began to hack away, trying to avoid his own eyes in the mirror, not sure he could keep up the momentum if he caught himself for too long. He could feel he was breathing faster, in little huffs as he worked. He wished he could just rip it all out. He looked down at the sink and then turned his head to the side, seeing he’d done an uneven job, but the knots were gone, and he could push it out of his face.

He didn’t know why he was doing it, when he was meant to be hiding. He ripped open the razors and used a bar of soap to lather up his face, dragging the blade down as he held his breath.

He’d been shaved before, hundreds of times, by people whose hands shook with fear. Whichever foot soldier unlucky enough to have that job usually ended up with a broken neck for coming too close. Bucky thought of their faces, the smell of piss before the light left their eyes.

He worked fast, scooping up the hairs to throw into the paper basket under the sink, trying to wipe away the evidence. He ran the faucet and grabbed a toothbrush in a package Darcy left for him, then brushed his teeth roughly, scraping at his tongue and insides of his cheeks.

He wanted to gag but pushed through it after stopping twice, feeling delicate, until he finally ran out of steam, shutting off the water to lean against the sink, catching himself in the mirror.

He didn’t know how long he was in there, but he walked out of the bathroom, flipping the light off on the way, his eyes darting around the bedroom.

“Holy shit,” he heard, and he looked toward the bed, seeing Darcy was tucked in, staring at him.

He went still, hands balling into fists automatically.

“Is it… is it bad?” he murmured, and she shook her head vigorously.

He put a foot forward, and then the other, ducking his gaze to the floor and he moved toward the bed. Darcy pulled the blankets back for him to slip in and he obliged, sinking into the mattress with a groan he couldn’t suppress.

“It’s a nice mattress, huh?” Darcy murmured, and he nodded, feeling a smile begin to spread across his face.

He opened his eyes, rolling them to lock with hers, feeling his face flush as he realized she’d moved closer.

“I don’t… I don’t have any money,” he said, and instead of being offended, Darcy burst out laughing, turning her head into the pillow to smother the sound.

Whenever finally sobered, she was pink in the cheeks and still giggling. Bucky slipped further down the bed to her level, copying her by lying on his side.

“You’re lucky I’m feeling so generous,” she whispered eventually.

“I mean it, I can’t pay you,” he said.

“I don’t want you to,” she replied. “I just want you to be okay.”

Her smile faded and she lifted a hand to cup his cheek, searching his face.

“You look like someone, but… I can’t remember who.”

Bucky felt his stomach drop and he thought of his notebook, with the picture of Captain America inside. He thought of the Smithsonian and how even then it was a big risk to be out in public, and then things had fallen apart again, leading him all the way back here.

“You’re so handsome,” she whispered. “Hiding under all that hair.”

He was better prepared for her kiss but he still took a couple seconds to sink into it, his hand coming up to cup the back of her head, his eyes finally closing as she licked into his mouth, slipping her tongue between his lips.

“Hhn,” he murmured, the sound being ripped from him, and he knew he was starving, something was broken down and he _needed_ her absolutely.

His hand slipped down her waist and he was surprised to find she wasn’t wearing pants, just a simple pair of gray cotton underwear, her shapely, soft legs bare and tangling with his.

He rolled on top of her and she sighed.

_“Yes.”_

He grew greedy, sucking her lips and tongue, wanting to taste her mouth, still chasing her when she pulled back for breath, her eyes darker.

He moved down her jaw, further to her neck, and she sighed again, her hands deep in his hair and tugging, anchoring him to the present. He transferred his hands to her hips, looking down at her under the covers, her camisole leaving little to the imagination, and he could feel he was getting hard, but he wanted more, feeling drugged.

He’d been drugged many times before, and it was the only feeling he could compare it to, since he seemed to move of his own accord, slipping down her body as he tugged at her underwear to reach all of her, Darcy’s breath hitching when his fingers glided up her inner thighs, spreading them.

He’d been drugged to his eyeballs when he got his new arm, and he was glad to have both now, in this instance, and yet he hated that he was touching her this way with his cybernetic fingers, but he could feel her better this way, could smell her musk beneath the thatch of dark hair.

He sealed his mouth over her and her thighs twitched, his tongue drawing up and over the cut of her, the earthy taste of her enough to make Bucky groan, Darcy’s fingers digging into his neck and the back of his head.

He kissed her, lapped at her, sucked on the little button at the top, listened to her reactions, saw her heels dig into the mattress on the edge of his vision. He pulled back a second to inspect her, seeing the glossy, flushed folds of her, a drip of something coming out that he licked up, diving back in.

She was beginning to tremble on either side of his head, soft little mewls escaping her lips as Bucky pushed his tongue inside her back and forth, his face getting wet… he locked his arms around her and didn’t let up, suckling her clit as Darcy’s chest began to heave.

Her hips lifted and he felt her twitch, her breath held, and then she let it go, turning to liquid, panting above him.

He was tugged up by his hoodie and their lips crashed together, Darcy’s hands on either side of his face, pouring herself into it, Bucky’s hips rocking into hers, seeking the friction.

He made a truly undignified sound when she managed to slip a hand down his pants and wrap around his cock, his eyes squeezing shut as he tried to rein it in, everything tight.

Mercifully, she let him go, craning to grab something from the drawer by the bed. Bucky watched as she dug out a condom, and then they were shuffling around as he kissed her hard, his pants shoved down as Darcy ripped open the package.

He went still as she rolled it on, holding his breath when she lifted her chin to kiss him, Bucky lining himself up to her, his heart in his throat.

He went slack-jawed and huffed as he breached her, Darcy sighing at the stretch, and Bucky knew he would only last a couple pumps, especially when her hand slipped down to squeeze his ass and pull him in sharper to fill her to the hilt.

“Fuck,” he gasped, and he rocked, just once, before he came.

It was too much, the tight, wet clutch of her, and he lost vision, thinking maybe this was how he’d slip away from her, and maybe this was the last time he’d see her alive.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he panted, and he pulled out of her, slumping face-first into her pillow, still pressed against her.

He began to cry, and he didn’t know why it was happening, when everything had felt so goddamn good a second ago, buried inside her. He tried to hide his face, but Darcy was turning him over.

“Whatever you did –”

“No,” he begged.

“_Whatever you did_,” she said again, firmer. “I forgive you.”

He was crying on her face and neck, and she kissed his face all over, even on the tracks of tears, licking her lips as she drew back.

“I killed so many people,” he gasped. “I killed so many people. I killed so many people…”

-

He jolted awake, eyes darting around, and he heard Darcy draw in a breath next to him.

She’d turned out the light, and he felt he wasn’t wearing his pants, having kicked them off earlier. He didn’t remember anything after crying before.

There was a shift of the mattress and the room was flooded with yellow light.

“You okay?” she whispered, voice slurring from sleep.

“I have to go.”

She looked around, rubbing her eyes.

“Okay, let’s go.”

They packed up everything, and Darcy wrote a note, leaving it on her pillow. They crept downstairs and slipped back outside. Everything was glowing blue in the pre-dawn light, and Bucky took one last look at the house, before Darcy’s opening the driver’s side door brought him back.

He thought about ditching her at a gas station, because he knew she’d stop somewhere if he asked her to. Then he couldn’t imagine it, it’d hurt too much to push her away like that.

He chewed his lip as she drove. She hadn’t said where they were headed.

“We should stop and get some breakfast,” she said, changing lanes. “If you don’t mind crappy coffee…”

He shook his head, his guts churning.

They pulled over at a diner and Darcy parked at the end of the line, the engine idling as she reached to squeeze his hand.

“I got questions,” she said, her voice sudden in the silence.

He clenched his jaw.

“You said someone’s name in your sleep. He… he sounded like someone I know.”

Bucky felt like the world had tilted and he was about to fall over. His eyes darted around and he wondered if there was some way this was a long con, since it didn’t make a lot of sense that this girl, this beautiful, brave person, could accept him for the monster he was.

It smelt like HYDRA, it was just there style, to let him off the leash only to snap him up again and break him down to start over.

“You HYDRA?” he whispered, and Darcy’s eyes widened.

“Oh, my God,” she gasped. “No. I’m not – but – Bucky, are you - ? Are you _Bucky Barnes_?”

“Who are you if you ain’t HYDRA?” he said, and he was reaching for the door handle, unbuckling his seat belt.

“I’m… I’m just an intern,” Darcy babbled. “Or, I was. I was until Jane couldn’t keep me, and then I couldn’t keep up with bills, and… I got into this, because I figured… I’m a sex worker, that’s all I am, okay? I swear I’m not out to get you, or – Jesus, are you I think you are?”

“When did you figure it out?” Bucky breathed, and she deflated.

“Oh, my God,” she gasped again. “Steve’s been looking for you. Thor told me. They’ve been trying to find you.”

“They’re gonna kill me,” Bucky said, and Darcy’s hand darted out to grab his metal wrist.

“I swear on my life,” she said. “I swear on my aunt’s life and my own that I’m not HYDRA, I’m no-one. I’m no-one, Bucky.”

He looked deep into her eyes, and against all better judgment, he believed her.

“You’re not no-one,” he whispered. “How can you say you’re no-one?”

He kissed her and Darcy whimpered from the force of it, his arms wrapping around her. He embraced her, hot tears flooding his eyes.

When they broke apart, they were both wiping their eyes. Darcy kept sniffling, sucking in sharp breaths as she tried to calm herself.

“God, of all the people to run into,” she whispered. “What were you doing in California? Oh, no… D.C…”

She seemed to remember something and she closed her eyes.

“God…”

“I’m okay,” Bucky said. “If I’m with you, I think I’m okay. I thought if I saw you, I’d check you were real, and – and I thought for a while that you were dead. Maybe I’d killed you.”

Darcy opened her mouth to say something but he pressed on.

“I’m… I’m not sure if I’ll lose more time. There are gaps. But I haven’t lost much with you.”

“So we should take you to the Avengers,” Darcy said, and Bucky frowned, confused. “They’re the people Steve Rogers works with now. They’re like a team of superheroes.”

“What,” Bucky said, and Darcy let out a short laugh, still teary.

“Yeah, I know. This world is bonkers, and it’s just getting fucking smaller every day.”

Bucky looked out the window, at the diner, seeing people’s backs to the window as they sat at a bench eating their food, a waitress moving back and forth to pour coffee.

“I don’t have anyone’s number there, is all,” Darcy murmured, sounding far away. “Jane’s in Norway still…”

“I dunno, Darcy,” he said. “I don’t want you ever thinking it wasn’t worth it –”

He was cut off by a short kiss to his lips as she took him by the chin, her eyes narrowing.

“Would you do the same for him?” she asked. “For Steve, if he showed up asking for help?”

“Yes,” Bucky said instantly, feeling his eyes mist. “But this is different.”

“I’m not going to just let you go, let you go away so you can be _alone_ and _die_, okay?” she hissed, her voice breaking at the end. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” he whispered.

He kissed her, softer than before. When they pulled back, he pressed his forehead to hers.

“I didn’t stop thinking about you, the whole time,” he said. “Even when I didn’t know if you were something I imagined. I dreamed about you, too.”

He swallowed his tears down, making himself nod.

“Okay, we’ll go to Steve.”

-

The drive was three hours. By the time they reached Manhattan, Bucky’s knee was jiggling as fresh nerves set in. He kept clenching his jaw and looking out the window at all the cars and people, the buildings surrounding them, and he thought about two different outcomes.

They’d either kill him, or keep him. And there was no way knowing that Steve was there to take him in anyway. Agents could recognize him and shoot him in broad daylight. He was that dangerous.

They parked Darcy’s car and they walked the last couple blocks together hand in hand, keeping their eyes down and weaving through the crowds.

He should’ve got a gun. Darcy had her taser, and he had a knife in his boot he shoved in there from his backpack. He didn’t want to have to kill a bunch of people to get away, if it came to that.

As they approached the building Darcy described, he glanced up at the top, seeing the giant A at its peak.

“Fuckin’ ugly,” he muttered, and Darcy let out a surprised laugh.

He didn’t know where that voice came from, and then he realized it must have been the other man whose memories he sometimes had bubble up, with big band music usually accompanying girls in dresses being twirled around.

He heard Darcy let out a shaky breath.

“Okay,” she said, and they gave each other one last look.

He swallowed, and it was just her, it just Darcy there with him, the foot traffic weaving past them in the street.

“I love you,” he said, and then stepped forward, pushing through the glass doors to the lobby.

The air inside was cool and there were people walking through, footsteps echoing to the high ceilings. Darcy fell in beside him, slipping her hand into his.

“So, now what?” she murmured.

“We wait,” Bucky said.

It took less than minute for a receptionist at the desk to their left to spring into action, possibly because Bucky’s face was on a list for a type of dumbass scenario like this one. He trusted Darcy and he trusted Steve, but he knew none of these other people.

“Hands up!”

There were half a dozen people reacting, drawing their weapons, screaming at him.

“Put your hands where we can see them!”

“Get down on the ground!”

Bucky obeyed, keeping his eyes downcast as he knelt, first with one knee down and then the other. Darcy didn’t move, and he looked at her.

“Darcy, do as they say.”

“Fuck that, I love you, too,” she hissed, and she moved to stand in front of him, her hands up.

She took a deep breath and yelled:

“His name is Bucky Barnes and we need to see Steve Rogers right away!”

Bucky’s mouth had gone dry but he felt a sense of pride, somehow, underneath it all, that she was doing this for him, shielding him and saying his name.

“Bucky hasn’t done anything, he’s co-operating,” she added. “Uh, I’m not. I’m not co-operating.”

There was a couple tense minutes of silence, agents murmuring to one another as they waited, the entire floor at a stand-still, and he could hear Darcy’s breathing coming in short gasps.

“He’s on his way.”

One of the agents pointing a gun at Darcy said that, her eyes cold. Bucky swallowed, his eyes darting, beginning to calculate…

There was a ding of a distant elevator and people were turning the heads toward the source, some of them distracted enough to lower their weapons. Others were saluting, as a man appeared, wearing a plain hoodie and sweatpants, not unlike Bucky’s own outfit.

Bucky stood, feeling like the earth was falling away, like he was stepping out of the present.

He was on the bridge again, back in D.C.

Steve was staring at him, lips parted in shock, and Darcy took his hand, squeezing it, pulling him back, like she always did.

“Bucky?” Steve said.

Bucky looked down at Darcy, then at the crowd behind his best friend, armed to the teeth, before he finally looked into his eyes.

“Hey, Steve.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [my Tumblr](http://grimeysociety.tumblr.com/)


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